


Remembering

by Shamelessly_Radiant



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Character Death, F/M, Memories, Not really a relationship, i love tags, title pretty much says it all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2015-04-25
Packaged: 2018-03-25 17:54:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3819562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shamelessly_Radiant/pseuds/Shamelessly_Radiant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>TR One-Shot: Tom Riddle was once just that. Tom Riddle. A little boy. Follow his path into darkness, an witness him leaving Tom Riddle behind and becoming.. Lord Voldemort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remembering

**Author's Note:**

> Another oldie, betaed and ready to go! I hope you enjoy this, 'cause I have always been really intrigued by Tom's life, and always a bit disappointed by the lack of back story on this one, and by the automatic evilness of him. A little boy automatically evil? No. But after a world war, an orphanage, some bullying, and feeling like you don't belong because the first. wizard. you. met. showed. immidiate. dislike. owards. you? Yes.
> 
> Fun fact: I once wrote an essay on Dumbledore and Tom, depicting Dumbledore's keyrole in making Tom Voldemort by not showing acceptance in him, immediatly presuming he'd be bad and never allowing him to prove himself. I also made some allusions to the Grindelwald/Dumbledore thing, saying that Dumbledore recognised Gellert in Tom and thus deemed him not worthy at once. (Charismatic, handsome, brilliant?) Let's certainly not forget Dumledore's 'For the Greater Good' philosophy.
> 
> Yeah, sorry. I'm bitter. Maybe I'll post that essay once.
> 
> Enjoy and make me happy by leaving a quick opinion? Yeah? Hopeful face here!

"I will not repeat myself again. Who are you?"

He is circling her slowly, predatorily. 

"Don't you remember me?" she asks.

He doesn't, and he has had enough. Pointing his wand at her, he uses the one spell that reveals every secret to him, that will let him see her every thought.

" _Legilimens_!"

But for once, it does not have the desired effect. He is stopped by something, and then he pushes, but it will not give way - and then suddenly it's pushing back. He feels his own head being invaded, and he can't do a thing about -

**_._ **

He is five years old, and he's playing with autumn leaves, laughing as he makes them fly up in the sky.

He's having so much fun playing with the leaves, but then six big kids are looming over him.

Other kids had whispered to watch out for them. Accidents had happened after that. No one had dared to speak anymore.

One of the kids he recognises as Billy Stubb. The others are neighbour kids.

They're yelling "Freak!" Billy kicks him twice before they run away, screaming and laughing.

And Tom is left behind, sitting alone with leaves surrounding him, crying as it starts raining, thinking about how unfair it is he can't have a mummy and daddy to protect him, to hurt these kids just like they hurt him.

**_._ **

Now he is ten again and Billy's rabbit sits at his feet. The animal is in pain, but it cannot get away. It isn't enough. Pain will not punish Billy, but killing his rabbit will.

There is a piece of rope hanging from the rafters. Concentrating, he slowly guides the animal to the wall and makes it start climbing. When it reaches the rafters, he makes a hand movement, and the rope tangles itself around the neck of the animal, securing itself. Almost there.

Concentrating one last time, he only lets one word come into his mind. Jump, jump, jump. And that is exactly what the rabbit does.

Tom smiles a triumphant, malicious smile while he watches the rabbit slowly quit struggling and go limp, a white spot on the grey walls.

Now he knows. He is special. Not only can he speak to snakes, but he can control animals too.  He can make them hurt. And if he can do it with animals...Never again will the six kids be mean to him. Never again will they hurt him.

It is _his_ turn now.

**_._ **

Tom is thoroughly annoyed, because this weird man calling himself a professor is here, here to take him away, to have him locked up. Do they really think he is that stupid? Do they really think he will go willingly? He is _eleven_.

But then, his annoyance is melting like snow in the sun as he learns what he has known all along - that he is special, that he is different from the other kids. He can do things they can't.

"Prove it!" he commands. He has to be sure, and he wants to see.

But that Dumbledore man is not so easily persuaded. He seems to dislike him. The feeling is mutual.

Eventually the professor relents and then -

Tom's closet catches fire. He lets out a shriek of anger, ready to put it out, to teach the man with auburn hair a lesson-

The fire is out just as suddenly as it is on, but Tom's fury has no reason to leave him. Because inside there is movement, there is noise, there is something looking for an escape. The not-so-little boy knows what wants to escape.

"All right, Professor," he says, his face unreadable, void of emotion.

He stops listening as the professor-bloke starts rambling on and on about theft not being tolerated at Hogwarts.

It doesn't matter. He is an excellent wizard. Better than the one sitting before him in ridiculous clothes. No one will tell him what he can, and cannot do.

It will not take long before they find that out at Hogwarts too.

**_._ **

"Oh, so you're a Mudblood?" the boy sneers, the clingy girl on his arm laughing.  Tom is strongly reminded of Billy.

Tom curls his hands into fists. He knows that tone of voice, and though he doesn't know the meaning of that word, he has a inkling to what it may mean. He is itching to make them suffer, picturing them on the ground twitching in pain like Billy's rabbit.

His concentration is broken when a brotherly arm is thrown around his shoulder and Abraxas Malfoy asks, "Is there a problem here?"

**_._ **

Now he is talking to Cygnus Black about his heritage, and Black is telling him that there is no way he is a Mudblood, because if he was one, he would've never been sorted into Slytherin.

And then, he asks the question that will change Tom's life:

"Have you ever thought about researching your name?"

**_._ **

Books, books, books, books, books, more BOOKS -

Tom shoves the books to the ground, glad he decided to do this in the privacy of his bedroom, where everyone knows Not. To. Disturb. Him.

He is growing tired, his hair a mess from the times he keeps pushing it back as he peruses book after book without finding his name. Nowhere is there a Riddle to be seen. But it has to be his father who's the wizard. His mum would not have let herself die if she had been a witch. 

Or had she?  Marvolo. It _is_ a wizard-like name, is it not?

He stands up from the bed, turns on the light, and picks up the book he had shoved away onto the stone floor, and there it is. Proof that he is not a Muggle-born, that he is not a generic boy with a generic name.

Marvolo Gaunt and his family, Morfin Gaunt and Merope Gaunt, are known to be the last living desendants of Salazar Slytherin. The three of them are able to speak Parseltongue, the noble trait that Slytherin himself possessed. They live in Little Hangleton…

He is not just a descendant from a wizard, he is a descendant of Salazar Slytherin himself! Oh, how the snakes used to be drawn to him, speak to him, obey him, and all this time he knew that he was special, but not that he was so much more - 

His face breaks into a triumphant grin before his thoughts wander to darker places. His mother had died even though she was a witch. Tom does not see how she could have died, abandoning him and leaving him in a Muggle orphanage, unless…

Unless she had been so tired of living that she wished for death. And the only way that that could have happened, he thinks to himself, was because his father had left her.

Reaching that conclusion, white-hot fury overtakes him. The book he is holding starts burning and burning, and so he pushes down the fury and rewards himself with a promise, a fantasy: revenge.

He will make that filthy Muggle pay for abandoning his mother and abandoning him even before he was born. And above all, he vows to himself that he will not love.  He will never love because love makes people blind, love makes people weak.

He will not make his mother's mistake.

**_._ **

" _Open_ ," he hisses, the familiar sounds of Parseltongue coming out.

And this time something happens.

He watches in awe as the sink sinks away. His long search has not been in vain.

The basilisk has listened to him and welcomed him as a worthy descendant of Slytherin with noble blood.

For the first time, Tom feels like he belongs.

**_._ **

He is older now and looking down at Myrtle's body. He had not meant for someone to get killed. Not right away, at least. His plan was not yet finished, but that simpering Mudblood girl had to get herself killed, and now the school would possibly be closed.

And even if his plan works, he'll still have to lock Naga - his only companion - away. Speaking of, the snake Naga is impatiently hissing next to him.

"No," Tom orders. "You know what our agreement was, and you broke it. Go back to your chamber, and stay there."

The snake slithers off, hissing indignantly, and Tom leaves quickly. The girl will soon be found and he has a plan that has to be set in motion.

Two birds with one stone, he thinks. Crying, moaning Myrtle, and a filthy half-blood with an obsessive but useful love for dangerous creatures.

Tom smirks and leaves the cold bathroom for the library, not once looking down into the glassy eyes of the girl laying on the floor. In the library he reads and waits for someone to come tell him the awful, sad news. Not petrified, but killed. Poor, poor Myrtle.

**_._ **

He still cannot believe he got away with it. Of course, no one would doubt the story of perfect, brilliant, quiet prefect Tom Riddle, but somewhere he had hoped someone would know - that someone would recognise that it was impossible for a half-giant to be the Heir of Slytherin. That it had to be someone more worthy. Someone like him.

Only Dumbledore seems to doubt him, but the old fool would never do more than sit in the shadows and pretend to know everything. No action, simply trust in humanity and love. He scoffs. He had looked up to Dumbledore. He seemed like a brilliant wizard. He seemed great. Everyone said he was oh-so-brilliant and very wise.

Tom had tried to talk to him a few times, but mutual dislike only turned into hatred for him.

Dumbledore wasn't worthy of his time and wasn't worth the admiration he once held for him, admiration long lost after the red-haired man spent his days hiding in a magical Scotland castle, while in Germany, Nurmengard was expanded as more and more people got a place there, and the cemetery behind it took more and more place as Grindelwald waved his wand and conquered.

To believe that Dumbledore was a Gryffindor once.  _Coward_.

Even now, with Tom being a student, and nowhere near the position of power Grindelwald holds - at least not yet - Dumbledore doesn't do anything. He just observes Tom and asks his little question.

"Is there anything you wish to tell me, Tom?"

And Tom always meets his piercing blue gaze with his own, an unreadable expression on his face, and always answers the same way.

"No, sir. Nothing at all."

He always holds Dumbledore's gaze until the professor nods and Tom walks away with Dumbledore's gaze burning his back.

This time, it is no different.

**_._ **

He crosses out his attempt and dips his eagle quill into black ink again, writing down words he hates, hoping that this will be the last time he has to write them down. Outside the sun is setting, and a cool breeze is a welcome respite after the long, hot summer day. It ruffles his hair as it comes in through the window and moves the quill he holds with his left-hand fingers as he writes.  He plays with the pages of the diary destined to become special, to be unique -

TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE

I AM LORD VOLDEMORT

Orange sunlight shines on the parchment, illuminating the words and giving them new beauty. He sets down the black- and grey-striped quill next to it.

Staring down at it, the dark-haired boy smiles triumphantly, because this means he can get rid of his filthy Muggle father's name.

He will meet his father soon. If everything goes the way he wants it to, Tom will have punished him and taken his first step towards immortality.

He flicks his wrist lazily.

 _Incendio_.

It's time to go.

Ashes drift out of the window, letting the wind take them away, long after the door to the little orphanage bedroom has closed.

.

" _Crucio_."

His voice sounds cold and emotionless.

The man on the floor screams out, and suddenly the door flies open. Two elderly people storm inside.

"What is going on here?" a man asks, agitated.

Tom reacts on instinct.  " _Avada_ _Kedavra_!"

The man gets hit with the green flash and falls. The woman's scream is cut off as she follows the same path.

His grandparents. The ones who should have spoiled him and given him cookies from the cookie jar when his parents weren't looking.

Look at them, lying on the ground, he thinks.  Look at the difference between them and him, standing stronger than he would have been if he had not grown up alone. He's a wizard of sixteen, who had just managed the most powerful and difficult curse - _twice_.

He spots a movement out of the corner of his eyes. "Oh, I don't think so," he says pleasantly to his father.

The man freezes as he finally gets a good look at the boy. He's about sixteen years old, and he just killed two people without even blinking. But the most shocking part was that he could have been looking at a younger version from himself.

"What _are_ you?" he asks, terrified.

"Why, father, don't you even recognize your own son?"

"No," Tom Riddle Sr. whispers. "No.  It can't be."

The pleasant expression on Tom's face is long gone now.   "Did you really think you would get away unpunished?" he sneers. "You abandoned me and my mother -"

"No, you don't understand. She bewitched me, forced me to marry her. I had no idea -"

"What is there not to understand?" Tom asks calmly. "You left your own wife, just because you found out she was a witch, pregnant and penniless."

"No, please," the man begs. "I did not even knew I had a son-"

"LIAR! YOU FILTHY MUGGLE! YOU ABANDONED MY MOTHER, LEAVING HER TO DIE, AND ME TO GROW UP IN AN ORPHANAGE! YOU NEVER ONCE BOTHERED TO FIND ME! WHY? WAS I SO DESPICABLE TO YOU? AND MY MOTHER - MY MOTHER DIED BECAUSE OF YOU!"

He is breathing hard, angry at himself for the outburst. He is not supposed to care. He never will care. He only has to look forward to his goal of immortality.

"Please, son, forgive me. I had no idea -" Riddle Sr. starts, but he is interrupted.

"It doesn't matter anymore," Tom says quietly, more to himself than to his father. "It doesn't matter anymore. You will help me achieve my goal. Then my mother will be avenged, and we will be even."

He takes out a black, leather-bound book and carefully places it next to him on the floor. Then he straightens up again and aims his wand at his father.

"Goodbye, father."

Expecting Tom Riddle Sr. to beg, Tom is astounded when three single words come out instead.

"I am sorry."

A flash of green leaves his eyes lifeless forever, with a scared yet regretful look on his face.

Tom quickly gets himself in check. He has avenged his mother. That's why he came here.

Besides, he achieved what he wanted to. He should be feeling happy. He is happy.  Right?

And so Tom Riddle leaves with a bounce in his step, pretending he did not think the last part of that statement, and instead focussing on one thing only:

He is no longer mortal.

**_._ **

He's feeling ecstatic. That old Slughorn fool told him exactly what he wanted to know.

There is no limit to making Horcruxes. He can easily split his soul into seven parts. He would never have guessed that it was so easy to live forever.

But his thoughts take him somewhere else, to a dark path he has wandered once before. He pokes his finger into the slot of his favourite green Slytherin chair, letting his thoughts drift to that place. It is very easy indeed to become immortal. So the same old question arises: why did his mother die?

It was his father's fault. He wonders how many other wizards have suffered because of a Muggle, and then he decides that  Muggle-borns really don't deserve to live in this world. Salazar Slytherin was right. Maybe he was hurt by a Muggle too.

He will do something about it. For starters, he will make sure the basilisk is released again in the future to purge the school and save others from his mother's fate. He will write into his diary this evening, and explain to Horcrux-Tom what has to be done.

He will also talk to his fellow Slytherins - to Abraxas Malfoy, Cygnus Black, Lestrange, Nott, Crabbe, Goyle, Dolohov, Avery, Mulciber, Wilkes, and Macnair, to see if they are finally ready to join him.

And he will get rid of his father's name once and for all.

He wants it all. He wants the world.

**_._ **

He studies the object in his hands. His once so-awaited Head Boy badge. How quickly these seven years passed. Now, everything has turned into a memory.

No matter. From now on, he will be here as a teacher.

He pins his badge on one more time and goes to see Dippet.

**_._ **

"Greatness inspires envy, envy engenders spite, spite spawns lies," he quotes, the words falling from his lips like honey, sweet and rich. "Surely, you must know that, Dumbledore?"

Or maybe you don't, he thinks, because out of the two of us, only one is strong enough to see power and actually take it.

An hour later he speaks, cursing the position only he deserves. He hopes everyone Dumbledore deems worthy dies.

Dumbledore himself will be  _personally_ taken care of.

Hogwarts had been his home for seven years. The place where he learned greatness, found power, became Lord Voldemort.

It is over now. He is close to his goal. His Death Eaters await him to take over the world. The diadem has been placed, maintaining a piece of him, the greatest student to attend, in Hogwarts for eternity.

He walks away and he does not look back-

**_._ **

"Enough," he hisses, curling his spidery fingers around his yew wand. The wind that had been howling around the clearing has stopped making noise, and the eerie quiet is only disturbed by the breaths of the girl before him, the only light coming from his wand.

"Tom?" she asks.

He recognises her now. Katherine Roselle. A half-blood just like him, but instead, the wizard had left her mother after using her. They had talked for hours, but she had never wanted to hear bad words about Muggles. Eventually, he had just left her alone.

The small voice that would have told him he could have loved her has disappeared quite a long time ago.

"What did you do to yourself?" she asks him.

He doesn't bother with an answer, but slowly raises his wand.

She closes her eyes.

He pauses.  Never had anyone done that. They pleaded, they begged, they cried until the green light took away their lives.

But she...she shows acceptance.

He always knew she was different. Too bad for her then, to not listen. In fact -

"I became powerful," he says. "I let nothing stop me on my way to greatness. What did you do to yourself, Miss Roselle?"

She shakes her head, frightened, and she is like a deer caught in the headlights of a car.

"Exactly," he spits at her. "Nothing. You let yourself be used like your Mudblood mother,  thrown away without even lifting a finger. Without ever even looking for revenge."

Bending forward, he grabs the girl by her hair, lifting her up until he can speak into her hair, ignoring her pain-filled cry.

"You see, Katherine Roselle, that's the difference between you and me. I did not repeat my mother's mistake. And I also never let my father repeat it again."

He traces a finger over her neck, relishing in the pure red that blooms under his cruel nail before flinging her on the ground again.

"I was strong enough to see the power, to take it, and you were too weak to even accept it when I offered it to you on a golden platter."

"Wrong, Tom," she says softly. "I wouldn't call me the weak one."

She raises an arm to gesture between the two of them and then loses control over it, flailing around as she screams under his Cruciatus Curse.

"I am not Tom Riddle," he says to her. "I am Lord Voldemort."

"Now sleep, little girl," he whispers some time later, watching her chest go up and down as she struggles to breathe, watching her hand grope around without result on the frozen ground, looking for a wand that is too far away from her to reach.

Her blue eyes snap to him, her arms relaxing as she eases herself to the ground.

"Avada Kedavra," he says, and watches as she falls to the ground completely, the breeze playing with her hair, her blue eyes unseeing.

Tom Riddle had disappeared a long time ago. The boy whose biggest wish was to have a mummy and daddy, who played with leaves, had left, and in his place remained the shell of someone he could have been had he broken his silly vow.

But it was too late now, because a prophecy had already been made, and in two years' time a boy named Harry Potter would be born.

And history would go down.


End file.
